


Number four - back

by Mysteriouscheekbones1



Series: Five Things. [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Biting, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysteriouscheekbones1/pseuds/Mysteriouscheekbones1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the "five things" series, featuring Anakin's number four of his favourite parts of Obi-Wan Kenobi: his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number four - back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenobae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenobae/gifts).



> For 'Kenobae'. Thank you.

"Anakin- we've discussed this- don't interrupt meditation-"

I couldn't help it, I really couldn't. I'd seen attractive men and women, from one end of our galaxy to the next but somehow, nothing- not even the provocative nature of a twi'lek woman- could compare to the way his skin glowed, orange and green and red hues of light falling through our quarter window. I couldn't help it, I really, truly couldn't. How could I sit on my own mat and meditate peacefully when my eyes were drawn to Obi-Wan like a gambler to money- his weakness, his strength. My weakness, my strength.

I shuffled from my mat to his, curling my legs around his which were neatly crossed. Folded like his discarded robes.

"Sorry, master, I couldn't help myself." I sat behind him, a few moments passed, and Obi-Wan went back to his meditations. I took to one of my favourite parts of him: the scars on his back. He had quite a few decorating his back, laying themselves over his shoulder blades and spine, like a warrior's markings. They had always interested me, ever since I first saw obi-wan undress in front of me as a boy, each one held a story- a victory, a retreat, a loss; some I had even helped heal myself (which he didn't let me do often, as Obi-Wan tells me fixing a speeder and a body is not the same thing). They're like ice, alabaster against rosy and healthy skin, I think things swim under them sometimes, secrets- emotions and thoughts- sensual, dark, dirty... Nasty thoughts. I think I'd like to know them, as I reach with my hand to trace their paths over his flesh. I smirk as he shivers slightly, straying from the scars to his sides, the tips of my fingers ghosting from lower back to shoulder blade to nape of neck, spreading my fingers through his coppery hair.

Force, I love how he moans. It's strained, like something blocks his pretty throat- I want it to be my cock.

"Anakin-" a gulp, a deep breathe and he leant into my lips, urging me with a rotation of his arse against my hardening cock to keep kissing, press my mouth to his shoulders, back of neck and spine. Everywhere I pressed, his response was another rotation, head falling forward for me to take, take, take. Mark him with what I wanted to be mine. Mine. Mine. Force, and he was mine, how did I know? The way his eyes fall half mast, blonde eyelashes batting his rosy cheeks, lips parted, he lets me ruffle his hair, stain his skin with scarlet marks, drawn with teeth and nail.

"Mine." I push him forward, hands and knees. Enveloping his body in mine I lean over his bowing form, following the curve of his arched back with precise kisses and smoothing of my palms; as my hand moved to the nape of his neck, he bows lower, face against his mat, chest on the hard floor, arse pushing into my groin deliberately as if he were presenting himself.

I pulled his trousers over his behind, removing my cock from my trousers, spat into my hand and stroked it, pressing it to his hole. I let him back into me, groaning, watching the head of my cock slide past the ring of muscle.

I could've been gentler, we've fucked more times than I've counted, but mostly it's soft, with kisses delving into the deep dark depths of a passion I've never found before. I could've been. But I wasn't. He was mine tonight and I wanted- needed him to know. So I fucked him, hard, ruthless thrusts and deliberate, rapid strokes of his own throbbing cock. I like watching him try to hold for something, my leg, the floor, my hand on his cock, all the while groaning, voicing without coherent sentences the poisonous and addictive pleasure I brought him. The addiction he gave me. One I struggle to control when he touches or kisses me, and so, I mark him with my teeth, earning a cry as I bit into his shoulder blade, suckling.

We teeter on the edge of orgasm, his force energy, I felt it pulsate, expand and shrink like elastic constantly changing shape until it imploded, and he came over my hands, biting into his mat. I bite harder, I must be hurting him, inflicting a necessary pain as I come, dragging my fingernails over his arched back.

My mark stayed for a good month or so.


End file.
